


(don't) catch me

by Periazhad



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Enemy to Caretaker, Fear of Death, Hair Pets, Hurt/Comfort, Tim Drake Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 12:36:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29874771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Periazhad/pseuds/Periazhad
Summary: It's just supposed to be simple surveillance.Hood always complicates things, and Tim knows he won't miss another chance to try to kill Robin.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 35
Kudos: 439
Collections: Jason and Tim Enemy-to-Caretaker





	(don't) catch me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [envysparkler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/gifts).



> So, apparently I need to take care of Envy, and fics are all I know to do.
> 
> I was going to sleep on this, but I'm obviously not, so I can focus all my time tomorrow on another thing. The ending is bit...rushed, maybe? But there are hair pets, and we all know that's the important bit.
> 
> Envy, darling, I hope it helps.

Tim is doing surveillance. He’s perched on a wooden beam, listening to the men beneath discuss when the truck will arrive tomorrow night. He just needs to know  _ where,  _ so he can stake that out, too, and find out what exactly they’re smuggling.

He shifts, and the beam creaks ominously. Right, not moving until the smugglers are gone, check.

Finally, one of them mentions the address. He had started to worry he’d have to tail one of them home, and he’d promised Bruce he was only going to do on-site surveillance. The League was having some sort of Big Important Issue, but these smugglers have been creeping around for  _ weeks. _

Bruce hasn’t let him out to patrol alone since Hood attacked him in the Tower, not  _ once. _ Dick and Bruce went out every night for weeks until they cornered Hood, and brokered an uneasy truce. Dick had wanted to drag Jason back to the Manor, and Bruce wanted to put him in Arkham, or at least have him stop killing. Jason wanted to be left alone, so he could protect Gotham in his own way.

No one got what they wanted. Jason refused to come back to the Manor, Dick refused to let Jason be imprisoned, and Jason refused to stop killing. He agreed to “tone it down”, and he promised not to attack or interfere with any of the Bats. The body count hasn’t fallen that much, although non-fatal injuries are up, so perhaps they never found all the bodies before,

Jason had said, “Attacking Robin was a mistake, and I didn’t even get what I wanted,” but never explained what he  _ meant. _ Listening to the audio, Tim was miffed no one pressed him for more details. It feels pretty important to him; he nearly  _ died, _ and they just let it go.

Tim didn’t find much comfort in anything Jason said. Bruce and Dick assured him if Jason ever even  _ hinted  _ at coming after him again, they’d throw him in Arkham. But Bruce wouldn’t let him patrol alone, Dick hugged him a little  _ too _ tightly, and Tim felt a bit like a sacrificial lamb.

Being allowed out alone, when Bruce was off-planet and Dick was taking a night off, made him feel like he  _ was _ actually safe from Hood.

But when Hood walks into the warehouse, directly underneath his beam, Tim suddenly feels a lot less safe. Despite Bruce patrolling in Gotham for over a decade, no one  _ ever _ thinks to look up. Hood won’t make that mistake, if he’s in league with these smugglers.

The men freeze at Hood’s entrance, and he strides uncontested through them.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” Even through the modulator, TIm can hear the rage. It reminds him of his bones snapping, his blood flowing,  _ terror. _

It seems to have the same effect on the men.

“H—Hood,” one of them stutters. “Our b—boss won’t be pleased if you interfere.”

Another man shoots him an incredulous look, and Tim is inclined to agree.  _ No one _ in Gotham makes Hood back down, not even Batman himself. Whoever their “boss” is does not pose a threat to Hood, guaranteed. No one in the room does, himself included.

A thrill of fear runs through him, but it isn’t until the beam creaks again that he realizes he’s trembling. Did he have to pick a creaky beam? Luckily, no one seems to hear.

“Oh, I visited your boss already.”

The silence in the room is heavier. No one breaks it this time. Hood is casual, relaxed, waiting. Tim sees who’s going to break first. One of the men is shifting his weight, just a little bit. If Tim sees it, Hood must, but he still doesn’t do anything.

Tim has a bad feeling about this. What  _ are _ these men smuggling?

The man breaks, and gets almost to the door before Hood shoots him. Even knowing it’s coming, Tim flinches at the crack of the gun. The beam groans more than creaks this time, but Tim is focused on the man lying still in the doorway. That’s...that was a killing shot. Hood sometimes does kneecaps, or non-fatal injuries and Tim thought...

The pool of blood spreads rapidly from the body in the doorway, and there’s another beat of shocked silence before the rest of the men scatter in all directions. Most go for the door, but some of them must realize that’s never going to work and head for the side exits.

Fascinated, horrified, unable to look away, Tim watches as each of them falls. Hood barely moves, firing the minimum number of shots needed, attaining maximum fatalities.

In the ringing silence that falls, Tim is still frozen. If Hood knew he was up here—if Hood knew he was  _ alone _ —he swallows, and resolves to wait until Hood is far,  _ far  _ away before he even thinks of moving.

The beam breaks under him, and he’s scrambling backwards, as though that will bring him to safety, falling through the air in a rush of noise and panic, eyes fixed on the gleaming red of the helmet, so similar to the blood all over the ground, so reminiscent of Tim’s blood all over the Tower.

It’s not going to matter what Hood will do, because the fall is going to kill him; his brain is shrieking at him to do something, alarms blaring, but that _helmet_ is all he can see, terror icing over every rational thought. Being stalked through the Tower vivid in his mind, he has a moment to think falling will be an easier death, and then Hood steps forward and _catches him._

Now they’re both frozen, Tim looking up at Hood, Hood’s helmet tilted down towards him.

“Robin?” The sound of  _ that voice _ saying his name breaks Tim free of his paralysis. Before Hood can think to clamp down, twist an arm, snap an ankle, or stab him, Tim is  _ running. _

He knows it’s hopeless; he  _ saw  _ how easily Hood took out all those men, but his body doesn’t listen to his brain. It remembers the pain, and the fear, and needs to be away. When he makes it to a shipping container, he doges behind it and heaves for air. Running a short distance shouldn’t wind him, but the panic riding him steals his breath.

He tries to listen for Hood’s footsteps, but Hood was trained by Bruce and then the League; Tim wouldn’t hear him coming, even if the panic was drowning out everything else.

“Robin?” Thank god, he still sounds far away. Tim moves to slip further between shipping containers. “Robin, come out of there. I’m not going to shoot  _ you.” _ Tim has a small scar on his leg that says otherwise.

“Are you really gonna make me come after you?” Is Tim going to serve himself on a platter for Hood to torture and murder? No.

His hands are shaking so badly, he’s not sure he could even open any of his belt compartments to throw a batarang or disappear into smoke. Or, wait, Hood has the helmet, smoke won’t help.

_ Nothing will help. _

Trying to take deep breaths, he moves deeper into the warehouse. He surveyed it out before the smugglers arrived, so he should be able to remember the layout and find an exit, but panic is whiting out his brain.

Distantly, he realizes his complete uselessness in the face of panic is why Bruce spent so much time teaching them to overcome their fear, but he can’t remember even one of those exercises.

When the comm in his ear crackles, he almost cries in relief. Bruce must have gotten home early, or Dick came out to check on him and—

“Batman, come in.” That’s Hood’s voice,  _ on their comm line. _ Did they—did they  _ give _ him a comm? Did he hack his way in? Can Hood use the comm to track him? Ice fills his veins. 

Tim raises a hand to rip the comm out, but stops when Hood’s voice comes in again, the voice in his ear echoing oddly, a beat behind the voice in the warehouse. 

“Batman? Nightwing? I’ve got your wayward bird.” Tim hopes maybe, somehow...but the silence stretches.

“Did you really let him out alone, finally?” Tim rips the comm out and crushes it underfoot. He needs to get out, get  _ away,  _ but he doesn’t know where to  _ go. _ Would Hood chase him through Gotham? Back to the Cave? Into the Manor?

“Are you gonna make this difficult, Robin?” Tim freezes. Hood had asked him that, back at the Tower, back when Tim thought he had a chance, and Tim had spat out yes.

He wondered, sometimes, waking up shaking and sweaty from nightmares, what would have happened if he’d just said  _ no. _ If he hadn’t fought back, would Hood have hurt him so badly? Drawn it out? Hood told Dick and Bruce he didn’t get what he wanted, and in the middle of night Tim wonders if that meant he intended to kill Tim.

If he doesn’t come out, and he doesn’t escape, and Hood finds him again...Tim swallows. He doesn’t want things to be  _ difficult _ again. The panic recedes, a little, and clarity fills him.

No one is coming for him. Not in time. Bruce or Dick will check on him, but it will be too late. He’s supposed to only be doing routine surveillance, he’s supposed to be  _ safe, _ and he’s— 

He swallows again. He’s going to be just another body on the warehouse floor. 

If Hood needs to kill him, then—tears slide out from under his domino, and Tim wipes them away. He doesn’t want to make this _ difficult. _

“Fine, but I’m  _ not  _ happy about this,” echoes through the warehouse and Tim flinches.

“W—wait.” His voice is a thin thread; he can barely hear himself. “Wait!” His voice echoes through the warehouse. “I don’t want—don’t want to be difficult. I’m coming out.” He wipes away more tears, and starts heading back to the center of the warehouse.

Without the crippling panic, he can remember his way through the warehouse. He knows every possible exit, but can’t turn away from his path. He can’t risk—he doesn’t want to  _ hurt, _ and if he’s going to die—

“Any day now, Robin.” 

Tim hesitates in the shadows for just a moment, and steps out into the light.

“Finally. I didn’t know a Bat could  _ be  _ that slow. Let’s go.”

Go? Tim stares at him, mouth dry. But—he’s not making this difficult. He’s doing what Hood wants and Hood is  _ still _ going to draw it out?

Maybe Hood doesn’t understand. Maybe he wants Tim to go with him, so they can fight somewhere else. Somewhere away from—he glances around—all the bodies. A small shudder goes through him. If he’s going to die, he’s  _ not _ going to have it be drawn out.

“Just do it, Hood.” His voice is flat, but his hands are trembling and his stomach is churning. The men seemed to die instantly; surely Hood would do the same for him.

Hood tips his helmet to the side, and Tim takes a little step forward. “Just  _ do _ it. I did what you asked, I’m not—I’m not making it  _ difficult _ and—” He can’t continue.

“Robin…”

“Hood,  _ please.  _ I—please, I’m doing what you s—said, and you—” His voice is shaking as he wipes away yet more tears. “Please, just, do it now. Make it quick.” 

When Hood takes a small step forward, Tim flinches back. “Robin, I think you’ve misunderstood.”

“No,” Tim says, voice unsteady, “ _ No, _ please, Hood. I don’t want to leave with you,  _ please.  _ Just—”

Hood takes another step forward, and Tim closes his eyes. “Please, Hood, just shoot me,  _ please,  _ make it fast. I’m not—I’m doing what you  _ want,  _ please don’t hurt me. You can get—get whatever you didn’t get from the Tower, when—you didn’t kill me. But n—now you can get what you w—wanted.” 

Silent reigns in the warehouse. If Hood isn’t—that means— 

Maybe he wants  _ more,  _ as though Tim hasn’t given up enough.

Tim swallows again, and looks down. He’s standing in a pool of blood. That’s fitting. Closing his eyes, he drops to his knees and whispers, “Please.”

Footsteps, walking closer. Hood probably prefers the personal touch of an execution shot for him.

Numbness spreads through him, until he can’t even tell if he’s shaking, until the wetness on his face fades away. He’s just...numb. Gone, even before Hood kills him.

A glove swipes across his cheek, and Hood says, “Oh, baby bird,” as he picks him up.

Tim should—he should fight, he should scream, he should try to grab Hood’s gun or a knife from a sheath, but when he fails, Hood’s anger would mean— 

“P—Please,” he whispers again. “I’m doing what you want.”

“Shh, all I want is for you to be quiet, okay?”

Tim can’t—he  _ can _ , but— 

What else can he do? He nods, and turns his head into Hood’s chest. If he tries hard enough, he can pretend Bruce is carrying him.

When Hood holds him tighter, and he goes weightless as they fly, he thinks about twisting free. He’d fall, and Hood wouldn’t catch him this time, and he’d really be done. But, again, the fear of failing keeps him docile. 

If Hood’s going to draw it out, maybe there’s a chance Bruce or Dick will come save him. But no, Hood’s got a link into their comm. He’d know, and just finish Tim off before they got there. The tiny bit of remaining hope flickers and dies.

Hood carries him up steps, and unlocks a door. He sets Tim down on the couch and says, “I picked this place because I’ve already bled all over the sofa; your blood won’t matter.” 

The blasé admittance of upcoming torture should energize him to try to escape, especially as Hood walks away for a moment, but Tim can’t make himself move. 

When Hood comes back with a glass of water, not wearing the helmet anymore, he softly says, “Please, _please_ don’t. _Jason,_ please, don’t.” 

Hood is Jason, after all, and maybe there’s some part of Jason that remembers what it’s like to be a Robin, remembers that torturing people is wrong.

Jason holds the water up to his face, but Tim just turns away.

“For fuck’s sake, kid. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Tim turns back to him, expectant.

“Christ, I’m not gonna kill you, either. What the fuck is up with this shit? You offerin’ yourself up to all the Gotham villains for a quick death, or am I special?”

Tim turns back away. Jason’s going to play with his food, and Tim won’t be a part of that. There’s a loud sigh, and a clunk as Jason sets down the water glass.

Abruptly, Tim’s shoulders and head are lifted, and then settled down gently into Jason’s lap.

This is the weirdest position Tim’s ever been in for torture. A hand strokes through his hair, and tension unspools from Tim’s body. He should be—resisting, or begging or—

The hand keeps stroking, and Tim sinks deeper in the couch. The couch that’s good for bleeding on. He should be panicking, he should be—the hand cards through his hair again, and he stops trying to resist.

Just accept the comfort, for whatever reason it’s given. Tim drifts, basking, somehow feeling warm and safe.

Dimly, he registers Jason speaking. “Hey Dick, no, he’s safe with me. I don’t know why his comm and tracker went out.” A pause. “Yeah, you’d better come get him. He thought I was going to kill him.” A longer pause. “Stop shouting! I didn’t hurt him; he’s practically asleep on my lap, but he doesn’t trust a damn thing I say. With good reason.”

When Dick slips in through the window, Tim stirs, dragging himself up through the waves of comfort trying to push him back down.

“Dick?”

“Hey, baby bird.” Dick’s voice is soft. “You going to come home with me?”

Tim thinks. “Jason’s going to kill me, Dick, I don’t think I can leave.” There’s a strangled noise from above him. “Unless...are you here to rescue me?”

Dick smiles at him. “You don’t seem to be in any danger.” The hand running through his hair stops, and full awareness hits him.

He sits up, in a panic, and says, “He  _ kidnapped _ me!”

“You asked me to kill you!” Jason sounds defensive.

“You didn’t have to  _ kidnap  _ me!” Tim is outraged. “You told me the couch was perfect because it would  _ hide my blood.” _

“You were  _ already _ covered in blood!” Tim glances down.

“None of it’s yours?” Dick interjects, concerned.

“Nah, it’s all from him  _ kneeling in a pool of blood _ and then  _ begging me to shoot him.” _

A silence settles over the safehouse.

“You told me I was going to make it difficult on myself if I didn’t come out of hiding,” Tim finally says quietly. “You said—you said that, at—at the Tower—and I thought—I thought—” He twists his hands together, studying the couch, carefully not making eye contact. 

“Shit.” 

“Why  _ did _ you go after him, Jason?”

“Oh, you mean besides the fact that he fell into my arms like a literal damsel in distress?”

“I didn’t know the beam was going to break,” Tim mutters, as Dick glances between them.

“And then you threatened to hunt him down, because…?”

“Uh, well,” Jason sounds suddenly uncomfortable. “I rigged the warehouse to blow last night, and I wasn’t gonna blow it up with him still  _ in it,  _ but I had to finish my message to the traffickers.”

“ _ That’s _ what they were smuggling?” It makes sense, actually. Jason has a zero tolerance policy for traffickers. If Tim hasn’t been so panicked, he probably would have realized that. They were bringing  _ people _ in on the trucks.

“You didn’t know?” Jason glances between them. “I thought...I mighta sounded mad, because I thought you were gonna try to arrest the fuckers instead of letting me kill ‘em.”

As Dick explains why Tim was watching them, and why he was alone, Tim sits quietly. He was never actually in any danger. Jason didn’t want to kill him. Jason just wanted to blow shit up, and Tim got in the way, and Jason...made sure he was safe. Took him to a safe place.  _ Pet his hair. _ Tim lingers on that memory a little more than is necessary. 

“And what the fuck are you two doing, that your ‘baby bird’ is so fucking touch starved?” Jason is glaring at Dick.

Tim looks up. “I’m not—“

“You let someone you thought was gonna _ torture _ and  _ murder _ you stroke your hair.  _ For two hours.” _

Two hours? Tim finds himself blushing.

“I hadn’t realized—I’m—I’m sorry.”

Jason glares more at Dick, who sits on Tim’s other side and wraps an arm around him. Tim leans into him, resting in safety. 

Jason’s hand runs through his hair, and Tim nearly  _ purrs. _

“See what I mean?”

“Hmm, I do.” A different hand runs through his hair and Tim grumbles. “But you might have the special touch, little wing. Come back with me, help me take care of him? We’re clearly not doing a good job.” Dick’s voice is coaxing. “Come help us.” He stops running his hand through Tim’s hair, and Tim makes a displeased noise.

Jason argues with Dick, but starts running his hand through Tim’s hair again. Tim melts, and realizes that Dick might actually get his wish for Jason to come to the Manor, but he’s not going to get another solo patrol for a long, long time. 

**Author's Note:**

> Jason comes home and makes them food, horrified neither of them can do anything without Alfred, and they all cuddle on the sofa watching Tv, waiting for Bruce.
> 
> Tim eventually asks Jason what he really wanted in the Tower, and he says he wanted proof Bruce cared about HIM, and Tim feels like an idiot for thinking it was ever about Robin. It's not really his fault, because attacking Tim in the Tower is a shitty way to try to find out if your dad ever loved you.
> 
> They did give Jason the comm link on purpose, and somehow forgot to tell Tim, because they are idiots. Loveable idiots, but absolute idiots.


End file.
